


Hey, that's pretty good.

by Imworriedsomeonesgoingtofindthisaccount



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Fantasy, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Bathroom, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22500457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imworriedsomeonesgoingtofindthisaccount/pseuds/Imworriedsomeonesgoingtofindthisaccount
Summary: Chase can't get House out of his head.
Relationships: Robert Chase/Greg House
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	Hey, that's pretty good.

Fuck.

Chase lets out a quiet groan, low in his throat, left palm pressed so hard into the wall above the toilet tank, for long enough that it's started sweating.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. This is wrong. 

He can't stop though. He couldn't stop those other times either. His right hand speeds up slightly on his cock, his thumb spreading the clear fluid that had begun to accumulate over the tip, his breath coming in shorter, humid pants.

His mind unwillingly brings up an image of-

Fuck, no, no, it's- it's Cameron, shifting underneath him, pink lips parted mid moan- and then it's not his small, pale, colleague anymore, it's _him_ , it's House that's underneath him, and he's squirming, and he looks thoroughly uncomfortable and god _yes,_

This is wrong. That doesn't stop it from feeling so, damn, good. 

_"Huh,"_ his voice comes out in an embarrassingly long winded moan that chokes off as his hand speeds up and his knee buckles. His left hand squeaks slightly on the wall as it slides down before he rights himself, slowing down in favour of long hard strokes, before huffing speeding up again. 

_Cameron, Cameron, Cameron._ The sheen of sweat on her hairline as she tried to restrain her voice, the jut of her collarbones, her hair spread over his pillows, the way he smells of coffee and leather in the mornings- wow.

This time, his says - or rather yelps- it out loud. He's harder than he's been today, maybe ever, and it's kind of killing him. _This is not a thing,_ he thinks desperately, while he struggles to swallow his whimpers. He blinks his hair and sweat out of his eyes, blows his shaggy locks up from his forehead and accidentally looks down, squeezing his eyes shut once he imagines it's someone else's hands are wrapped around his cock, and they're definitely not feminine. He shudders. God, the thought of _House_ jacking him off, it's fucking _wrong._

His hard-on doesn't flag.

He's dragged back to his original fantasy, House naked and wriggling below him, embarrassed, awkwardly looking at anything, anywhere but him, and Chase sighs deeply into his elbow after slamming his head onto his forearm. He's leaking steadily into his now frantic palm, but he's only inching closer to the finish line. He'd honestly rather this would be over sooner than later. 

He's stopped trying to gag his moans at the source, and instead attempts to muffle the sounds with his arm.

Sweat in hair. Hair on pillow. Collar bones. Coffee. Leather. Blue.

Peircing blue, clear eyes, pinned on him, judging. He can just see it; his long form in his usual, wrinkled, clothes. Reclined on his office chair, legs crossed and cane twirling languidly in long fingers.

Sneering coldly down at him as Chase ruts into his own hand, fucking _besides_ himself and-

His balls tighten suddenly and without warning. He bites down harshly on his arm through the material of his lab coat, his shirt, and his fucking skin apparently, a loud moan escaping anyway, and yeah, he's pretty sure that's going to bruise tomorrow. He's still imagining House's humiliating stare on him as he comes.

Okay. Okay, that felt right.


End file.
